Finding Forever (Smoky Mountain Lawmen Book 1) Read online

  Finding Forever

  By

  Ashley Quinn

  Finding Forever

  Copyright © 2016 by Ashley Quinn

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, events, and places are either products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  No parts of this book may be copied, reproduced, and/or distributed in any way without express written consent from the author.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 1

  Gemma Mabley sat back, trowel in hand, and surveyed her handiwork. Pops of color shone brightly in the unseasonably warm, late-May sunlight in the now filled flower beds surrounding the house she shared with her brother, Tristan. She swiped at the beads of sweat trickling down the side of her face, leaving behind a trail of dirt. Her shoulders and arms ached from all the planting, but the satisfaction from the result dulled the pain. Hot out or not, Gemma was happy to feel the warm sun on her skin and see the brilliant shades of red, yellow, pink, and purple lining the front of her house. The winter had been brutal and she’d done a happy dance the first day the temperatures had risen above freezing and stayed there. She hadn’t waited any longer than necessary either to usher away the last dregs of the cooler weather by planting a plethora of flowers.

  Although, forcing all thoughts of the cold to the furthest recesses of her mind hadn’t been her only reason for deciding today was the day to plant flowers. Three hours ago, in an attempt to use mindless action to calm herself, she’d returned from the local garden center with a trunk load of flowers. After donning her gardening clothes she’d attacked the flowerbeds with a vengeance befitting Genghis Khan, imagining her brother’s face with every stab to the dirt.

  Gemma loved the man dearly, but he knew no boundaries, particularly when it came to her love life. In the past year, he’d sabotaged four different relationships with his overprotectiveness. Every time she got remotely close to a man, Tristan stepped in and intimidated him to the point he’d rather cut and run than be subjected to the “I’m the badass” stare, her brother had perfected over the years in the military and as a cop. If the stare wasn’t enough, the questions certainly were. She’d had one man compare his questioning tactics to the German Gestapo.

  Tristan claimed it wasn’t him that was the problem. It was the men she dated. He insisted that when she found the man worthy of her he wouldn’t scare away no matter what. Gemma kept insisting that if he never gave anyone a chance to even try to get to know her before he put the fear of God and the universe in him none would ever bother to try because they’d have to win over the overprotective brother first. Every time a new relationship crashed and burned before it ever left the ground she and Tristan had the same argument. It had grown beyond tiresome.

  Gemma sighed as she started on the final row of flowers. Last night’s fiasco had been the last straw and why Gemma was out here imagining her brother’s face in the dirt. She had managed to keep her relationship with Ted Masterson a secret for two months before she’d finally let Ted pressure her into telling her brother about them and meeting him.

  She’d had such high hopes for Ted. Gemma had gotten to know him better than any other man since college and he’d been fully briefed on how difficult Tristan was. Ted had reassured her repeatedly that he could handle whatever Tristan dished out and she had thought their relationship had a footing strong enough to withstand Tristan’s probing.

  Gemma scoffed as she scooped more dirt and plunked a small flower plant in the hole she created. One look at Tristan’s scowling face, his six-foot-two inch frame packed with muscle, and the gun and badge attached to his belt and Ted had started to quake in his fancy Armani loafers. He had stood strong through most of Tristan’s interrogation—he was an attorney, after all—but when it came to the intimidation factor, Tristan could scare the paint off a barn. And Tristan was smart. And ruthless when it came to his baby sister. She’d seen the gleam enter Tristan’s eyes when he’d noticed Ted shrink back from the sheer weight of his presence and he’d pressed the advantage until Ted’s normally warm skin tone had been pasty white. He’d all but fled from the house once Gemma had convinced Tristan that he should save some of the questions for another time—she wouldn’t want him to come up short, should he get a second chance to peel away the flesh from her date.

  Their evening had been a slide downhill to disaster after that. They’d eaten a very stoic dinner that settled like lead in her stomach. Ted’s normally engaging and friendly demeanor had turned polite and reserved and she’d once again felt like a piece of spun glass that was to be admired only from afar. After they’d left the restaurant, Gemma turned toward the park, which was their custom after dinner, only to stop when Ted turned toward the car. When he had noticed her headed the other way, he had mumbled an apology and offered to walk with her. Gemma, having already endured his stilted, but polite, conversation all through dinner and not wanting anymore of it, quickly shook it off and climbed into the car. Ted had driven her home and deposited her on her doorstep with a handshake.

  Dirt flew as she dug the final hole, muttering to herself. She still couldn’t believe he’d offered her a handshake. On their last date he’d had his hand up her blouse, for crap’s sake!

  Gemma looked up as the door slammed and the object of her ire hurried outside, gun and badge clipped to his belt, truck keys in his hand. Alarmed, she stood up. Today was Saturday and Tristan’s day off. If he had been called in something really bad must have happened.

  “Gotta go, Sis.” Tristan cleared all the porch steps in a single leap and flew past her to the big, gray truck parked beside her SUV in the driveway.

  “What’s going on?” she called after him.

  “Dead body in Pisgah National Forest. Up near Hot Springs,” he called back. “I’ll call you later.”

  Gemma felt her anger with him die away as he roared out of the drive. She could never stay angry at him when he was going off and putting himself in the line of fire. She’d learned that early on after he’d joined the Army and headed off to Afghanistan. He might drive her nuts, but she knew it was because he cared and she would be lost without her big brother around.

  She sighed the tired sigh of long-suffering little sisters everywhere and bent down to tuck the last bit of dirt around the final plant. She gave the dirt one last pat then gathered up her tools, praying all the while that Tristan would be safe.

  Tristan Mabley pulled into the parking lot for the trails leading into the Pisgah National Forest outside of Hot Springs, North Carolina. A half a dozen other cars and police cruisers already littered the lot and the coroner’s van was parked near the trailhead, its back doors thrown open. Inside, he could see the county medical examiner, Dr. Kelan Tate, rummaging through the cupboards lining the van walls. Tristan’s boss, John Raymond, sheriff of Madison County, stood next to the van deep in conversation with a tall, dark-haired man. As Tristan came abreast of the two, he stopped as he got a good look at the stranger. It was the face of a man he never thought he would see way out here.

  “Major Davidson?”

  The man turned his attention to Tristan, eyes widening as recognition dawned. “Captain Mabley?”

  Tristan took stock of his former commander. Major Benjamin Davidson had led their Ranger team through numerous missions in Afghanistan. He’d heard through the grapevine that the major had retired due to wounds received not long after Tristan had left the service. Some of Tristan’s old buddies had said that Davidson had taken shrapnel to his leg, shattering the bones below the knee so that it was now held together with plates and screws. He hadn’t changed much in six years, though. His hair was a little grayer and there were a few more lines bracketing his eyes, but he remained much the way Tristan remembered.

  Tristan extended a hand to the man who had saved his bacon more than once. “Sir, it’s good to see you. What brings you out to my neck of the woods?” Tristan gestured around them. “Literally.”

  Davidson shook Tristan’s hand and held up a badge. “Seems my case may have landed on your doorstep.”

  “FBI, huh?” Tristan frowned. “The DB in the woods is yours?”

  Davidson nodded. “I’ve been tracking a serial killer in the region for nearly two years. We’ve got a flag in the system to alert us to bodies found in wooded areas. As soon as the location of this one hit the air waves I got a call. I was on my way back north to Richmond when it came in and detoured here. From the cursory description we’ve gotten from the people who found her it sounds like she may be related to my other victims.”

  Christ. A serial killer was just what they needed roaming the hills. There were so many places to hide in the Smokies. Probably why the maj
or had had so much trouble tracking the guy to begin with, Tristan mused. “How many victims have you attributed to the guy?”

  “This one, if she is in fact connected, will make five that we know of. This case landed in my lap when he crossed state lines from Tennessee to Virginia. He’s left two in Virginia, two in Tennessee, and now this one.”

  “Well, let’s get on it then before we’re finding victim number two,” Sheriff Raymond said just as Dr. Tate stepped down from the van, a large bag slung across his chest. The men filed silently into the woods behind the park ranger who had answered the initial call from the hikers who had stumbled across the body.

  The stench of death assaulted Ben Davidson’s nose about the same time the yellow police tape came into view. It didn’t matter where a murder occurred, Ben could always count on the smell to point him to the body. Even the recently deceased had a smell. It hung in the air like smog on a hot day and it was unavoidable.

  Ben bent beneath the crime scene tape and got his first glimpse of the body as he passed through the trees. He took in the grim scene with a detached eye, assessing it for similarities to his other victims. The woman swayed in the slight breeze where she hung by her neck beneath the branches of a large oak. Completely naked, evidence of torture was apparent on her bloodied body. Deep gashes marred the skin of her torso, her fingers looked like gnarled willow branches, and where blood had once flowed freely, it was now dried on her fingertips. She was identical to the other four victims at just a quick glance. Ben had a sneaking suspicion that when the M.E. did the autopsy he would find both her legs were broken in several places—crushed by a hammer or pipe—and that she had died from a broken neck.

  “Jesus.” Ben spared a glance at the sheriff who had pulled up beside him. The man’s face was devoid of all color and he could see him fight to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged. Ben was far past being affected by grisly sights. He’d been cured of that after his first tour in Afghanistan. Now, nearly two decades later, he examined scenes like this one with a calculated eye, looking for clues to help him bring down the monster responsible. He sincerely hoped this woman yielded more answers than the previous four victims.

  The M.E. stepped forward to look at the body as his assistant snapped pictures in quick succession.

  “She hasn’t been here long,” Tate remarked. “There’s not much decomp yet and she’s still in full rigor.” He glanced back at Ben and the other investigators. “Once we get her down and I get a liver temp on her I can give you a more accurate time of death, but just based off of looking at her I’d say she died sometime late last night or very shortly after midnight.”

  Ben felt a surge of hope. None of the other four victims had been found so soon after death. In every other case, nature had had a chance to wash away vital evidence. It hadn’t rained last night, so they might very well find clues on or around her.

  Tristan Mabley seemed to be on the same wavelength. The doctor’s proclamation galvanized the man into action and Ben watched as Mabley made a beeline for where the rope was tied, eyes trained on the ground.

  “There’s fresh prints here. Definitely male, probably a size ten or eleven.” One of the crime scene techs that had followed them in came over and started snapping pictures of the indentations. “We might be able to get a weight on the depth of the tracks,” Mabley remarked, reminding Ben how astute the younger man was. Mabley had always had a gift for quickly stringing out information and channeling it down a path that would get results. He wasn’t surprised that Tristan had thought of the depth of the tread as a way to give them some insight into their killer, and he was damn glad to have the man working this case with him.

  They worked diligently for several hours processing the scene. Even with the freshness of the scene there wasn’t much forensic evidence. They’d found tire tracks to an ATV in addition to the boot prints, but little else. The rope was a generic nylon sold in many sporting goods and hardware stores. Unless the killer had slipped up this time, there wouldn’t be any DNA evidence on the body and with the lack of clothing and other belongings there likely wouldn’t be any fingerprint or fiber evidence either. Ben just wanted a break in this case. It haunted him on dark nights that he couldn’t figure it out. He hated unfinished business.

  “So what’s the plan?” Sheriff Raymond asked as they gathered in the parking lot as Dr. Tate drove away with their victim.

  Ben glanced around at the crime scene techs packing up their equipment and spectators that the police presence had drawn. “All my files on this case are in Richmond. I’ll call my office and have someone drive down with them tomorrow,” he answered. “In the meantime, get statements from the hikers who found her and interview park rangers who work this area and find out if any of them have noticed anything unusual.

  “Sheriff, this is your territory and the people know you, so why don’t you handle crowd and media control. I’d like to take Detective Mabley and head to your office to try to run down the woman’s identity.”

  Sheriff Raymond gave one short nod and walked off to delegate interviews and handle the inevitable press that came with a case like this. Ben turned to Tristan and swirled his finger in the universal “saddle up” gesture.

  “You lead, Mabley.”

  Chapter 2

  Gemma glanced up as the front door opened and two sets of heavy footsteps made their way across the hardwood floors to where she was ensconced in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. Tristan had called earlier to say that the feds were involved in his case and that he was bringing the lead agent home tonight. She had immediately rummaged through the freezer to pull out the enormous steaks that Tristan insisted they always keep on hand, knowing that after a day spent canvasing for and cataloging evidence the two men would be ravenous. She heaped vegetables onto plates next to the cooked steaks and slid them onto the table just as the men walked into the kitchen.

  “Smells great, Sis,” Tristan said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Major, this is my sister, Gemma. Gemma, this is my former CO, turned FBI agent, Ben Davidson.”

  Gemma felt her heart hiccup in her chest as she smiled at the newcomer. A movie star, handsome man was not what she expected when she thought of federal agent. Eyes the color of turquoise sea glass studied her from a ruggedly handsome, tanned face. Silver streaked his dark hair at his temples and laugh lines bracketed his eyes and sculpted lips. He was a tall man—at least a couple inches taller than her brother and built just as solidly.

  Agent Davidson returned her smile. “Ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you. Tristan used to talk about you a lot when we were overseas. And thank you for the hospitality. It’s nice not to have to try to find a hotel room in the area at this hour.”

  Gemma felt her face flame. Good lord, the things the man had probably heard about her! She’d had a colorful childhood and adolescence. The phrases “accident prone” and “disaster magnet” came to mind.

  She cleared her throat and forced her smile to stay in place. “Yes, well, I’m hoping everything he said about me was good, but I know my brother and I do hope you won’t let his stories cloud your judgement of me.”

  Agent Davidson laughed. “It wasn’t all bad, I assure you.”

  “Good.” She motioned to the table. “Won’t you please sit down?” She gestured to her brother. “You too, Tris.”

  She offered both men a beer, grabbed the basket of fresh biscuits off the counter and sat down. Gemma watched both men tuck into their meals. They ate like it was their first meal in days. Within minutes both steaks were half gone, while she’d only managed a few bites of her much smaller filet. Once they had all appeased their initial hunger, Gemma asked them about their case.

  “I take it from the fact that the feds are involved this is more than a simple case of a hiker wandering off the trail and falling prey to Mother Nature?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Tristan answered. She could tell from the way his face shut down that it had been a grisly scene.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “We’re still piecing it together,” Agent Davidson answered. “We don’t even know who she is yet.”